“But it was not Pixy’s fault.  You said so yourself, Auntie!”

“Yes, I did say it.  It was your fault in calling ‘Pixy!  Pixy!’”

The moment the dog heard his name he sprang up, put his paws on her lap, and looked into her face with such an affectionate expression in his brown eyes, that she could not help patting his head and saying, “With it all, one cannot help loving you.”

The carriage stopped at number 37, and Pixy sprang to the pavement, followed closely by the boys, who helped Mrs. Steiner out carefully, and with one on each side she went slowly up the long steps.

“Certainly such help is not to be despised,” she said.  “You are my gallant cavaliers.”

She took out her key as she spoke and unlocked the door, and was surprised to see several letters which had been pushed under it during her absence.

“They are only business circulars, I suppose,” she said as the boys gathered them up and put them on the table.

She put on her glasses, took one up, broke the seal and read: 

“In reference to your notice in the ‘Intelligencer’ that you offer a reward for the recovery of your dog, I write to say that it can be found at 395 New street.  If you send ten marks between twelve and one o’clock, and a rope, you can have your dog.

“Respectfully,

“M.R.”

“Now just hear that, boys!  Whoever heard the like of this?  If he asks two marks for catching the dog, then he asks eight marks for one day’s feed.  He must have fed it on pound cake and champagne.”

“It would take my gold-piece to pay it, if the dog were really Pixy,” remarked Fritz.

“Yes, but it is not Pixy.  Let me see what this one says.”

“We have your dog, and you can have it, if you will put a notice in the paper that you will put twenty-five marks in our hand for it.  If you agree to this, then you can come to the Hessen statue with the money, and take your dog.

“P.P.”

“Wonderful that P.P. promises to bring a dog that we already have and who is lying comfortably on his piece of carpet by the window.  Now here is a stylish looking letter.  Let us see who is the writer.

“Highborn gentleman (or lady).

“I see that you speak of having lost your dog.  Do not imagine that it was lost; it was stolen.  It is evident that you like dogs, so I write to say that I have a fine Spitz which I will sell you.  His brother sold for twelve marks and I think you will be willing to give that sum.  If so, bring the money to Roderberg square at four o’clock.  With due respect,

“Euphrosine Sauerbier.”

“Fritz!  Fritz!  Your dog has shown me that there is more rascality in Frankfort than I ever imagined,” exclaimed Aunt Steiner; “or, upon second thought, I believe they are foreigners.  I am sure that no Frankforter would do such tricky things.”

“Here is a postal, Aunt, that you have not seen,” said Fritz.